His voice, whether used for singing, or for making music through the comb, was true and melodious; having the clear, sensuous timbre of adolescence that won the admiration of his most orthodox listeners. “De Sperret goin’ stop his shoo-fly ways one dese days; an’ den dey ain’ goin’ be _nobody_ kin tetch him raisin’ his voice to give Gawd de praise he done helt back for so long;” the old church members would comment, after having listened to some of the “shoo-fly ballets.” After friendly greetings were exchanged all around, and the new arrivals were seated comfortably, Susan asked Carmelite: “W’at you doin’ on dis side de river tonight? You ain’ give up yo’ place to Miss Newgeem house, is you?” “Yas ma’am,” Carmelite answered languidly. “I bin lef’ her a long time.” “An’ you ain’ doin’ nothin’?” Susan questioned. “Yas ma’am; I ain’ idle,” she answered reassuringly. “I’m sewin’ on quilts, yonder to my house. An’ I sho got some nice ones to sell. Made out o’ all kind o’ pretty scraps I gethered up ’munks de w’ite folks; an’ dey ain’ cos’ me a nickel.” With calm misgiving, Susan asked her: “An’ quilts goin’ suppoat you an’ put clo’se on yo’ back, an’ puvvide you wid shoes an’ vittuls an’ things?” “If I can’t sell ’um, I sho kin raffle ’um.” Carmelite answered with conviction. “An’ make much as I made workin’ up in Miss Newgeem scrooched-up kitchen; onsatafied an’ fretful as I was all de time.” “I thought you was please wid de place,” ventured Scilla. “Who? Miss Newgeem de wrong one to make people feel please. She got such fussy ways, she ain’ to be please her _own_ self. So da’s w’at make me quit an’ go yonder to my quilts; whah I ain’ had to worry ’bout bein’ plagued all day long.” “But Carm’lite,” began Soongy, by way of pleasant argument, “don’t you fin’ sewin’ on quilts is mo’ taxin’ work den cookin’ for a small fam’ly like Miss Newgeem got? I fin’ it mo’ combinin’, me.” “’Tain de cookin’, Soongy,” Carmelite explained. “It’s all de hum-bug you gotta do: passin’ de dishes thoo hot water befo’ you brings ’um to de table. An’ a fresh plate for evvy diffunt dish dey has to eat. An’ you know yo’self, how long it take for dishes to dreen aft’ you done pass ’um thoo hot water, an’ dey gotta be wipe besides. “An’ Miss Newgeem got a whole lot o’ Japanee china dishes so thin you kin see thoo ’um, an’ you gotta be careful how you tetch ’um. So one day, I say to myself: I’m goin’ put de things in de oven an’ heat ’um all at once an’ be done. So I put de plates an’ de cups in de oven, an’ push de stove-do’ half-to, an’ set down to wait on ’um. An’ chile! Aft’ a w’ile, I could hyeah dem things crackin’ up in de oven,—an’ I ain’ never had _tetch_ ’um. “An’ w’en I open de stove-do’ an’ looked at ’um,—chile, de dishes was so wreckded, it took me _three_ dish towels to pull out _one_ plate.” “You had good sense to go yonder to yo’ quilts,” Felo murmured in a humorous undertone.